Waging My Wars
by TiTivillus
Summary: From all the times Dean had been abandoned by the people he loved, Sammy leaving for Stanford had hurt the most. But this came close. Pretty damn close. Episode tag to 12x03 "The Foundry". Hurt!Dean. Hurt!Sam. Hurt/Comfort. Brotherly feels.


**Title: Waging My Wars**

 **Summary:** _From all the times Dean had been abandoned by the people he loved, Stanford had hurt the most. But this came close. Yeah, this came pretty damn close. Episode tag to 12x03 "The Foundry". Hurt!Dean. Hurt!Sam. Hurt/Comfort. Brotherly feels._

 **Warnings:** Spoilers up to 12x03. Bad language.

 **Disclaimer:** I don't own the show or its characters.

* * *

Dean was four when he had felt abandonment for the very first time.

He had been standing on a wet patch of grass in Kansas, shaking all over, a crying Sammy in his arms and stared at the raging flames that licked at their house, burning everything they had ever possessed to the ground and killing his mom in the process.

To this day, Dean would never be able to get the smell of cinder out of his nose or forget the way the fire had cast hot, dancing shadows against his skin.

The flames had taken his mother and Dean hadn't understood it back then, but by choosing to protect Sammy- as much as Dean could never resent her for that- she had inevitably chosen to leave them all behind, dooming them to the hunting life.

She hadn't known that her death would send John on a vengeful killing spree.

Or that Yellow Eyes would still try to come after Sammy.

Or that Dean had to take over her responsibilities, losing his own childhood along with his mom the second she went up in flames on that ceiling.

But she had left him all the same.

And it had hurt.

It hurt a _lot_.

 _ **-Supernatural-**_

Their dad was different after their mom's death and not necessarily in a good way.

Dean had made excuses for him all his life but the truth was, that John had added the biggest pile of self-worth and abandonment issues to Dean's soul throughout his life.

Too many times, Dean had been left behind to take care of Sammy, never knowing if their dad was going to make it back alive.

Too many times John had given Dean the feeling that he should have done better, tried harder- that he wasn't good enough.

That he was a disappointment.

Dean remembered Sonny's home for boys and how his father had left him there to rot.

He remembered all the times he and Sam had been dropped off at Bobby's with a ruffle to the hair and a few final orders, not knowing when or _if_ their dad would be back.

He remembered the time with the Shtriga and the way John had looked at him- like Dean was abominable- like he was no good at all- and the way he had _felt_ afterward, the way he had loathed himself for failing his father- for failing Sammy on such a basic level.

Subconsciously, Dean thought that John must have known that Dean's biggest fear was to be left behind and used it against him at every possible chance.

It had taken Dean years to allow himself to critically reflect on their dad's parenting.

 _Years_ before he was ready to admit to himself that John had not always done right by them- that some of their dad's parenting methods had been borderline abusive.

It had taken him even longer to realize that John had done it all on purpose.

That he had purposefully dropped them at Bobby's, not bothering to call for days on end, because he knew it would drive Dean crazy with worry.

That he had left him at Sonny's to fuel Dean's abandonment issues, to show him how _disposable_ he was- how easy he could be 'lost and forgotten'; his family moving on without him.

But back then, all Dean had wanted- _all he had ever wanted_ \- was to be with the remaining two members of his family, holding on to the only thing he had left in the world.

 _ **-Supernatural-**_

For as long as Dean lived, he was never going to forget the day Sam declared he was leaving for Stanford.

He had seen it coming, of course, in the way Sam gradually withdrew from him, talking less and spending hours locked away in the bathroom, not making eye-contact unless absolutely necessary. He had seen it in the way Sam had flinched away from his touch and met his jokes with silence or strained smiles instead of the usual banter.

He had seen it in the way the kid spent hours studying for school, burying his nose in books to escape the hunting lives they had led at the time- his mind and soul already gone long before he actually set a foot on the doorstep.

But even as Dean's heart grew heavier with each and every one of Sam's rebuttals, nothing could have ever prepared him for the kind of pain he had felt when Sam had actually packed his shit and walked out their freaking motel room without as much as a glance back.

If there had ever been a surefire way to kill Dean emotionally, it was having to watch the brother he'd raised, the brother he'd sacrificed everything for and loved with a ferocity that knew no match, walk out on him like he couldn't care less or like their meant nothing to him at all.

It had been the worst day of Dean's life.

Sam didn't need him anymore.

And with Sam gone, _nobody_ did.

 _ **-Supernatural-**_

Mary was standing in their library and Dean only needed to take one look at her to know that something was wrong.

Deep down, he had known that she was unhappy.

He had felt how hard she was struggling, how very lost she felt in this timeline, the bunker, in their world- just as much as Sam had.

But Dean had hoped that they could work it out, somehow.

He had actually been stupid enough to get his hopes up, had naively given in to the giddy excitement of having his mother back- of being granted that one wish in his life and just enjoy it for once.

But instead, she was standing there, making excuses, looking at them with that apologetic glint in her eyes like she knew what she was doing here was going to break their hearts, but she couldn't _help_ it.

"I have to go," she said, her voice gentle but determined.

And Dean should have _known_ this was coming.

After all, this was nothing new, right?

Just another one down the line, another person he'd allowed himself to believe in- another person to get his hopes up and fill his heart with a sense of completeness- of hopefulness- only to have it ripped away again. Only to have his hopes _crushed_ again.

The words left them both winded.

They hurt so much that for a moment, Dean's composure wavered and his usual poker face slid off, leaving all the hurt and vulnerability of a broken-hearted four-year-old shine through the broken cracks of his steel façade.

"I just need a little bit of time," she further excused, like that was going to somehow make things easier.

Like she couldn't have spent that 'time' right here with them, instead.

Like she couldn't have at least tried to get to know them better before she ran off again, deciding they weren't worth her while.

Dean's entire life had been orchestrated by the death of his mother and now that he finally- _finally_ \- had her back, she didn't want to be close to him.

Didn't even want to try to get to know him.

God, he couldn't believe he'd allowed himself to let his guard down that way, that he'd allowed himself to actually hope for this to work out.

"I'm sorry," she whispered. "I'm _so_ sorry."

Dean grimaced at the words because sometimes, sorry didn't cut it.

He had been so happy to think their family had finally been reunited again.

 _Hunting things, saving people, the family business._

Dean's jaw clenched, his throat working.

 _What a joke._

Mary must have seen the pain on Dean's features, the hurt settling deep in his eyes, the resignation of having to deal with yet another abandonment, of having his heart stomped on by the people he cherished- by the _'family is everything'_ concept his father had drummed into him from an early age on.

The concept he'd lived by and worshiped his entire life.

Mary took a step forward, her own features filled with regret.

Her eyes glistened with pity when she opened her mouth, but no words came out.

Dean took a step back, knowing he wouldn't be able to stand her touch after what she'd just said- after what she'd done to him.

He needed to mentally and physically distance himself from her in that moment, couldn't even bear to look at her because the disappointment, the _pain_ he felt _,_ was so real.

His eyes were skirting around the room and he turned his head to the side, not wanting her to see the hurt she had inflicted.

Not wanting her to see him this close to tears- this close to _losing_ it.

Her gaze burnt into him for a few seconds, the silent rejection hanging bitter between them.

Then she turned around and grabbed John's journal before stepping up to Sam.

She told him she loved him, exchanging a hug with Sam that Dean had denied her.

Then she said that she loved them both and it hurt even more than before.

Because actions spoke louder than words and _love_ had never kept them from leaving before. Not ever.

She shouldered her bag and trudged up the stairs and when the door fell closed behind her, Sam winced as if he'd been physically hurt by the rusty creak of the bunker's entrance.

They stood there for a long time after she left without saying a single word.

Then Dean turned around and headed towards the garage.

 _ **-Supernatural-**_

Dean was waxing the Impala when Sam crept into the corner of his vision.

He was wearing a washed-out T-shirt and slacks, bare feet shuffling uncomfortably against the cold cement floor of the bunker's garage.

"It's getting late," Sam said tentatively like he was afraid to spook Dean.

Dean didn't bother to reply.

Instead, he kept working mechanically, rubbing the wax into the Impala's hood in steady, circular movements of his hand.

The monotonous task coupled with the distinctive smell of leather and gasoline, had a soothing effect on him, driving the hurt away, even if only just for an hour or two.

Sam edged a bit closer from the side, seeking comfort in Dean's presence.

His posture was hunched over and there were dark circles underneath his eyes and if Dean hadn't been so lost in his own hurt, he would have felt something akin to anger for their mom for doing this to Sammy.

But as it was, all Dean could do to keep himself together, was trying to keep his mind carefully blank and keeping himself busy with work until the pain became manageable.

Sam opened his mouth again, but Dean beat him to it.

"If you came for a therapy session you can save your breath and head straight back to your room."

The words came out harsher than he'd expected and Dean regretted them the second he saw the hurt in Sam's eyes, the way he swallowed like the words had left a lump in his throat.

Dean closed his eyes, instantly feeling guilty.

 _Damn it._

Sam turned to leave, but Dean called him back the last second.

"Sammy, wait."

Sam froze, but he didn't turn around to face him, probably trying to hide his own hurt.

"I'm sorry," Dean said, looking down at his hands. "That wasn't... I didn't mean it."

They were shaking and his body was sore and he didn't know how many hours he'd spent in here, hiding from his own feelings and from the possibility of a confrontation.

But his little brother was a _talker_ \- he needed words in order to deal with his pain and Dean knew that if Sam left now, he was going to spend half the night curled up in bed, wallowing in the loss of a mother he'd only barely gotten to know, possibly _crying_ and that just wasn't something Dean could accept.

He was used to picking up the pieces anyway.

Every goddamn time after they'd lost someone close to them or been abandoned by their father when he skipped town for yet another hunting trip.

He was so used to taking care of Sam in the aftermath, to reassure and comfort and do all the things their _parents_ were supposed to do, that he couldn't possibly leave Sam alone now, in the wake of Mary's departure.

He didn't have it in himself to ignore it when Sam was suffering.

Not when there was something he could do to prevent it.

"She'll be back, right?" Sam asked, his voice sending a soft echo through the garage.

Dean swallowed.

"Eventually."

They always came back at one point, for a job or a favor.

Or a big showdown. Just like their dad had come back after a year of being AWOL just so he could sell his soul and break Dean's heart all over again.

"Do you think we should have approached her differently? That we should have told her more about our past or—"

" _Sam_ ," Dean cut his brother off on a sigh. He scrubbed a callous hand over his tired features, skin rough from hours of working on the car.

"I don't think mom left because of anything we did or did not do, okay? Just…" he hesitated, eyes fixated at a point in the distance. "Leave it alone. Try to get some sleep."

Sam managed to look even more rejected at that, like a kicked puppy that got abused by its owner and Dean's patience snapped.

"What do you want to hear from me?" he ground out in frustration, slipping off the hood and whirling around to land an angry kick to the Impala's freshly waxed varnish. "You wanna know why we weren't worth her trouble, you should have asked her, not me!"

" _Dean,_ " Sam's expression softened, turning from hurt to piteous in the span of a second. "She didn't— that's _not_ why she left."

Dean's breathing picked up and his nostrils flared, arms shaking as he propped himself up against the car's hood.

He could feel Sam moving closer, could feel his brother's comforting presence in his back without looking at him.

"She's just overwhelmed. She needs time to adjust."

Dean snorted at that, feeling the residual fight drain from his body when Sam's warm fingers wrapped around his shoulder.

"And what about _us_ , Sam?" he asked, voice cracking. "What about all the things ** _we_** need? What about the thirty-three years we've spent _without_ her while she was in heaven, reliving her greatest hits with baby Sam and little-boy Dean? What about _**us**_ needing _her, Sam_? We've spent our entire lives wishing for mom to be alive and now that we've finally got her back she just... _walks out_?"

"Dean..."

"And why? Because it's _hard_ to adjust? Like it wasn't hard for us to grow up without a mother? Like it was a walk in the fucking park to grow up without a dad because ours was too busy chasing after the son of a fucking bitch who killed her to remember that he even had two boys at home?"

" _Dean,_ " Sam said, sharper this time, looking shocked by his older brother's words. "Stop it."

Dean looked up then, meeting Sam's eyes for the first time in hours.

He knew Sam would be able to see just how affected Dean was, just how badly he was _hurt_ from the way his eyes glistened with heartbreak.

"What about _us_?" Dean repeated brokenly. "Why can't we just have that one thing for ourselves?"

 _Hadn't they given enough? Done enough? Accomplished enough?_

 _Didn't they deserve happiness?_

Sam held Dean's gaze and tried for a reassuring smile, but it wavered.

"We've got the Impala," he said, voice thick as he let out a chortled snort. "And we've got each other."

Dean's heart clenched at the words and a wave of affection for his brother overcame him so suddenly that it made him dizzy.

"That's all we've _ever_ had, right?" Sam added softly.

Dean snorted because yeah, that pretty much summed it up.

When Mary had died in a blaze of fire, the only thing keeping Dean functional had been his responsibility towards Sammy… the inherent need to take care of his baby brother.

When John had left them for weeks without as much as a phone call, the only thing keeping Dean from losing his mind had been Sam, relying on Dean to be the calm and responsible one, to show strength, even when he felt scared inside.

When John had dumped him at Sonny's, it had been the image of Sam in dad's car, of his little brother, so innocent and _good_ , in the backseat of the Impala that had caused Dean to slip back into the life.

And even after Stanford, Dean had kept going because he knew that's what Sam would want for him because Sam would never survive the guilt of knowing something had happened to Dean while he was in college- while they weren't even on speaking terms.

Sam had always been Dean's reason to keep going, no matter how much it _hurt._

So when Sam looked at Dean with tears in his eyes, begging Dean to confirm that yes, it had always been the two of them and they were going to be just fine without mom- just like they'd always been, Dean swallowed down his own pain and nodded before giving Sam's hair an affectionate ruffle.

"You wanna go for a ride? Just, you know, to clear our heads?"

They did this sometimes, when things became too much and when neither of them could sleep; when the only thing that would put their minds at ease was the steady rumble of the Impala's engine and the blur of colors in the passing scenery.

Sometimes they would hit a bar and get drunk.

Sometimes they would park on a hillside and camp out on baby's hood, basking in the knowledge that the other was still there and looking at the stars in the darkened sky.

Sam gave him a soft smile."Let me put on some shoes."

"And a jacket," Dean added for good measure because no way was Sam leaving in only a T-shirt. "I'm not giving you mine."

He was joking and Sam knew it.

Dean would give him the shirt off his back if Sam needed it.

Sam gave him a soft huff at that, but he wisely refrained from responding with the traditional _'Yes, mom'_ he usually offered up whenever Dean's protective instincts came through.

"Be back in five."

Dean watched him go, feeling some of the heavy weight lifted from his heart.

 _"The only thing we had in this world, the only thing, aside from this car, was each other."_

Funny how some things never really changed.

 _ **The End.**_

* * *

 _I know Mary's momentary goodbye was necessary to get the show back to its original formula, but did you see the heartbreak on Dean's face? And Sam's wince? How could they do this to our boys?_ _I hope you liked this! The new season is a rollercoaster of emotions, but it sure seems to inspire my creative muse. Reviews would be lovely! Xoxo_


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